


When the Scales Have Fallen

by KaelaByte



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: A little bit anyway, Gen, Kinda a case fic, hanni the canni being violent, i dunno wtf this is, might turn into a longer fic fyi, or where it's going, so far - Freeform, the case is kinda gory but no one get's hurt in the story itself.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 04:42:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2335739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelaByte/pseuds/KaelaByte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A recent slew of murders find will trying to apprehend a killer who seems to have a personal grievance with several members of the art community in Baltimore. As Will seeks out Hannibal's aid in figuring out the motive a few things begin to click in his head; connections between Hannibal's taste for perfection and the obvious artistry in both these murders and those of the Chesapeake Ripper's. As realization dawns Will finds himself at the mercy of a killer who is intent on getting Will to notice him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Scales Have Fallen

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little plot bunny I wrote out one day. No real plot to it so if you want this to continue another chapter feel free to post anything you'd like to see and maybe I'll get back to this. :)
> 
> Betad by the ever-lovely stangingkilleron tumblr

Walking into Hannibal Lecters office, Will was struck again by the elegance that always seemed to surround the older man. Even here in the waiting room it was decorated rather poshly; each chair probably costing more than all of the furniture in his house combined. Looking around he saw nothing but elegance, each object in the foyer chosen with great care, and as likely as not, chosen by the man himself. Will couldn’t imagine that many interior designers would have put as many garish items together. Somehow Hannibal had made them work though, the over abundance of culture drawing one in rather than repulsing them.

Yet again his eye was drawn to the painting hanging off to his left, depicting what was obviously supposed to be a god wooing a human girl. It had never failed to make Will shudder, not that he had ever told Hannibal this of course, the man was as proud as they come, and while he might allow him many freedoms, Will doubted that extended to criticizing his decor. Besides, it just took one look around Will's small shack for anyone to realize he was hardly an expert on any form of fashion. Still, something about the way that the golden-haired man was looking down at the boy cowering before him never failed to send a shiver down his spine. Perhaps it was the obvious power play, maybe it meant to show him the futility of challenging a god; he didn't know.

Before was able to get too drawn into his musings the door in front of him opened and another patient walked out. The man was short, dark curly hair clinging to his scalp, trailing down until it met the beard that had been neatly trimmed across his chin. He was talking animatedly to Hannibal, hands flailing about in excitement. Even from here it was obvious that Hannibal had little interest in the man, his carefully constructed mask slipping the smallest amount whenever he had to look directly at him.

".... perhaps we could go together sometime? It'll be my treat of course. It's just so rare to meet a fellow cheese lover here. I couldn't imagine giving up the opportunity." The shorter man rambled on, not seeming to notice Hannibal’s obvious distaste. Finally Dr. Lecter put a stop to the ceaseless flow of words, firmly telling the man good bye as he turned to face Will.

Smiling awkwardly, Will waited until the other man had left, the stranger looking dejectedly over his shoulder as he went.

Finally, he was gone, and Will was left facing his psychiatrist. No. His friend. Of course their talks would be off the book, Jack didn't want anyone at the FBI to look too closely at why one of their best sniffer dogs needing therapy.

"Good afternoon Will." Hannibal greeted him, a smile starting to show.

"Doctor Lecter." Will acknowledged, walking past the man into the office. It was no less extravagant in here, he thought to himself. The old wood of the desk and bookshelves was dark with age, each one larger than it really needed to be. Not that that detracted from the appeal. Each piece practically hummed with the appearance of power, the entire room made to intimidate and yet soothe. It was a strange combination.

"How have you been this week?" Hannibal asked, watching from the door as Will threw his coat over the back of one of the chairs.

"It was..... trying." he responded quietly, running his hands over the old leather-bound volumes on the shelves. Any one of the these books probably cost a month’s wages. Pulling one out at random, he felt rather than heard Lecter move up behind him, standing slightly closer than he might have liked; however that just seemed to be how Hannibal was, either too far or too close at any given time.

The book in his hand fell open to a page on medieval medicine, this chapter seeming to focus on the ability of blood-letting to help cure a patient of ill humors. Laughing softly to himself, Will wondered what on earth Hannibal had this for. He was a traditionalist, but this stuff was hardly necessary, or even practical.

"Unsettling how, Will?" Hannibal pressed, reaching forward to take the book from Will's hands, setting it back on the shelf he gestured for will to take a seat. Lately that's how all their meetings would go. No matter where Will went, when he came in, the doctor would insist on shepherding him, so that the two of them sat facing one another. If he was feeling particularly generous he might allow Will to sit at his desk; a fact that Will took advantage of as often as he could. It wasn't every day that this man would give over power so easily.

Sighing, he settled into the chair facing the door, crossing his legs over one another as Hannibal sat as well.

"Jack has me on a new case." He said dully, allowing his mind to wander back to the case files he had been reading this morning. "There have been three... to five new murders in this area alone." He confided, picking up the eagerness with which Hannibal suddenly eyed him. "Several victims have been found, each one mutilated in a different way. One had his throat slashed open, the vocal chords ripped out. Another, his hands crushed, mangled until you'd hesitate to even call them hands."

As he spoke, Will saw each of the bodies in his mind. Nothing about the men and women were the same. They came from all races, all backgrounds; the only common factor being that each of them were prominent in the arts somehow. The only one that didn't quite fit that pattern was an art critique; his eyes had been surgically removed. They had later found them placed in his bowels, an obvious comment on what the killer seemed to think of the man's critiques. Will grinned slightly at the thought, the murders were brutal, but at least this killer had a sense of humor.

Focusing again on the man in front of him, Will was treated to a look of amusement, barely noticeable on most people, but even a small crinkle around the eye was rather unusual for this particular man.

"Does something amuse you, Dr. Lecter?" Will asked testily. Even on his best days he hated to be mocked, and today was decidedly low on the list. He had been woken at three o'clock this morning, the ringing of the telephone breaking into the first solid sleep he'd had in nearly a month now.

"Just the way you describe the bodies. It almost seems like you... appreciate them." Hannibal noted, the start of a smile fading from his face, even as the merriment in his eyes grew brighter

"It's hard not to when I'm shown so many killers that do so just for revenge. This man obviously has something to say. It's refreshing."

"Indeed. And what is he trying to say Will?"

"Somehow, he is commenting on their art. Everything's jumbled, the motives aren't revenge, or love, or anything that it normally is. It's almost as if, as if they were just materials." The very thought forced Will to grimace. All humanity had been taken away from the people involved, each one manipulated into a sort of macabre art piece.

There was a sort of love towards the art, if nothing else. The most recent victim had been a young girl, a violinist for the Fairfax Symphony Orchestra. She had been found with her innards taken out, intestines used as ropes to tie her into a playing position. The chair under her was splattered with blood, the pattern widespread enough that it had been immediately obvious she had still been alive while the mutilations had occurred. However, the thing that stood out about this particular one was her face.

It hadn't been enough to simply kill her, the killer seemed to have taken a special interest in her; her mandible had been completely removed, the violin tucked under her tongue so that it  looked almost as though she were swallowing the instrument. The overall effect was one of a sort of beauty, or it would have been had it simply been a drawing. The effect with a human body was much more chilling.

"This killer holds these people in such low regard that they cease to even be victims to him. Just art pieces. It's almost as if he is proudly displaying something. A child pinning his art on to the fridge."

"So why is he targeting them? These people in particular?" Hannibal asked, his voice gentle, curiosity barely contained in its careful neutrality.

"I don't know." Will sighed. "They're each performers. Well, most of them. They all have to do with art somehow. But as for why these people in particular, I don't know. That's what Jack is trying to get me to figure out."

"Do you have the photos?" Hannibal asked, "Perhaps I could be some help. Or even names. You do not frequent recitals of any sort, maybe I will recognise a connection where you cannot."

Perking up slightly at the thought of finally finishing this case, Will quickly reached over for his bag, carelessly thrown on to the floor next to his chair.

Yanking the file out of his bag, he stood up to scatter the photos on Hannibal's desk, laying them out in order of the killings. Each photograph had a name and vocation written on the bottom in Jack's blunt script. Laid out next to Hannibal’s meticulous calligraphy it almost seemed childish, plain and blocky.

Hannibal leaned over the desk, eyes flitting from one face to the next. Some of them were mutilated beyond recognition, but here and there they had been kept intact.

“This cellist is familiar.” he said finally, gently shuffling a photograph of a man whose throat had been treated much the same as the violinist’s. His head was snapped back at almost ninety degrees, the fingerboard of a cello rammed down his neck.

“He played with the Baltimore Chamber Orchestra a short while back. I noticed that he had been missing from their rendition of Saint-Saens’s Havanaise a few months back. I simply assumed he had taken a position with another symphony.” Hannibal admitted, pursing his lips slightly as he examined the photo.

“Yeah, well, it seems the orchestra didn’t want this kind of publicity.” Will said wryly. “He was the first victim, wasn’t even included in the case originally. Jack had nearly forgotten about him.”

Will stared at the older man as he persued the rest of the victims, occasionally pulling one out of the lineup. Now and then his eyes would light up slightly, as though hearing a joke only audible to himself, as he pushed a photo to the side.

Something was trying to catch Will’s attention, a small niggling feeling in the back of his skull as he watched. He attempted to push the feeling away, refocusing his attention on the doctor as he explained when he had last scene the familiar faces. There weren’t many of them, two musicians, an art critic, and an actor. All various ages, all various ethnicities, nothing connecting them.

Finally Hannibal finished, settling the useful photos to the side as he piled the rest back into the folder near the edge of the desk.

“Perhaps these four will be enough for us to find a pattern.” he offered, looking back at Will for the first time since he had pulled out the case file.

The eye contact seemed to snap something into place, the niggling turning into all out panic as several things slotted into place. His epiphany must have showed on his face, Hannibal’s expression changing slightly, his features seemed too cool, his face taking on the countenance of cut glass; everything about it screaming danger.

Will tried to school his expression back to its usual haggard appearance, shoving the terror down inside him; his nightmares had given him practice in that anyway. Blinking rapidly he tried to pick up the thread of their conversation, stammering out the different theories the team had come up with so far.

Hannibal didn’t move so much as an inch as Will spoke; the movement of his eyes the only thing differentiating the man from a statue. They seemed almost predatory in their focus, the unusual burnt umber colour of them catching his attention. His eyes alone should have told him something, even if it was just superstition, they were odd enough that he should have looked twice and seen what was lurking underneath their careful construction. Now all the warmth was gone from them, bringing to mind images of dirt, stained with rivulets of blood rather than the burnished copper tones he was used to thinking of.

Mustering his willpower, he managed to turn his back on the man, despite his instincts screaming at him that it was a mistake. Will walked over to his chair and was just about to try and settle into it, eyes focusing on the coat lain over the back. If he could just sit down, the gun in the pocket would be easy enough to grab, the grip was already poking out of the coat .

A soft noise behind him gave a split second’s notice and he dived for the revolver, a sharp pain causing him to cry out as his calf was cut open. His fingers scrambled across the coarse material as he tried to pull the gun out. Before he could manage he felt Hannibal behind him, the presence that was usually comforting, now making the skin on the back of his neck crawl as he struggled.

Will’s head was pulled back roughly by Hannibal’s grip, blunt fingers digging into the curls and twisting slightly, forcing him to turn his head.  

“Why couldn’t you have stayed blind Will?” Hannibal murmured into his ear, the sound almost sad as he settled his other hand on Will’s shoulder. In his fist was the scalpel he used to sharpen his pencils, now tinted red with Will’s blood.

Unable to form a sentence, Will found himself simply whimpering softly as Hannibal pressed the blade against his throat. Will tried to relax back into Hannibal's grip, praying that compliance might prevent the man from injuring him further.

He could feel Hannibal's smile against the skin below his ear, the hand in his hair relaxing until he seemed to be caressing the curls.

"So where does this leave us?" Hannibal purred, his accent thick and heavy in Will's ear as he seemed to contemplate the question.


End file.
